


What's Worth Fighting For?

by WinterFang



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Date Change, Defeat, Depression, Ghosts, Giving Up, Injury, Inspired by Music, Inspired by a Movie, Other, Time Change, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterFang/pseuds/WinterFang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sound the bugle now <br/>play it just for me<br/>As the seasons change<br/>remember how I used to be</p><p> </p><p>He was done for, he was bloody and bruised. His breath escaped him, it fogged in the air, clouding his blurry vision. His limbs were weak and the once white robes were now donned in red. His weapons were missing, his bow, his arrows and his tomahawk, leaving him defenseless.<br/>The battle he fought was long, and it hurt. But he had refused to give up. But one misstep, falling in the river... falling down the steep drop and landing in the freezing water below...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Worth Fighting For?

Sound the bugle now   
play it just for me  
As the seasons change  
remember how I used to be

 

He was done for, he was bloody and bruised. His breath escaped him, it fogged in the air, clouding his blurry vision. His limbs were weak and the once white robes were now donned in red. His weapons were missing, his bow, his arrows and his tomahawk, leaving him defenseless.  
The battle he fought was long, and it hurt. But he had refused to give up. But one misstep, falling in the river... falling down the steep drop and landing in the freezing water below...

 

Now I can't go on  
I can't even start  
I've got nothing left  
just an empty heart

 

That was the signal that his fight was over. He had lost. He was beaten, too frozen in anger, in fear, in exhaustion. The boy did nothing as he saw the white men step towards him with their muskets raised in warning, that if he tried to move, they would shoot him.

 

His dark eyes glued to the men, but settled on the bigger one, the leader. There was not a spark in his eyes, not anymore. Gone was the rabid wolf they were fighting, in its place was a beaten stray.  
None other than the leader noticed, that his spark was gone; a twinge of sympathy filled his gut, knowing they had broken the once brave wolf.

 

He was done for, his robes would be sold and he would be forced into slavery. It would not be better than death, his crusade would stop, the Templars would rise once more. For he had not taking out the rest of them, Lee and his father was only the beginning.  
But... that was more then five months ago. Now it was snowing once more and it was cold, he was helpless and lost. There was nothing more for him, all he could do was submit.

 

The cold water lapped at his legs, "Come on, no use in fighting." The leader said as he knelt down and grabbed the man's wrists, slowly pulling him up to his feet, the Assassin trembled with fear, for what was to come.  
He leaned heavily on his weak legs, eyes closed, swaying softly as his wrists were held out by the leader, who supported him. A thick rope started to wrap around his wrists, all he could do was watch with sorrow filled, brown eyes.  
The rope was tight, heavy, allowing no room for fighting. But it wasn't like he wanted it either. A sigh pasted the half Indian's lips as another rope was tied to the second one, acting like a lead.

 

I'm a soldier  
wounded so I must give up the fight  
There's nothing more for me   
lead me away...  
Or leave me lying here

 

"Walk." Urged the leader softly, slowly pulling away from the Indian.  
He was still very cold and his legs felt weak and tender, the Assassin still lifted his foot and slowly started to step on. The group walked on at a slow pace, two men holding the rope that lead the deadly man, two beside him with muskets ready to fire and the leader behind him to keep him moving along.

 

He doesn't even remember how long they were walking, the boy was numb; only knowing to put onto foot in front of the other and keep his head down, to watch himself step on, to avoid the looks that they were sharing to each other and giving him strange looks. They thought he would fight more, the way he showed his strength and grace earlier...  
He didn't care what they thought of him. His fight was gone, broken. And he remembered it with every step, a horrible ache in his side as he remembered all that he did.

 

~~~~~

Sound the bugle now  
tell them I don't care  
There's not a road I know  
that leads to anywhere

 

After walking for so long, they finally arrived, he was able to stop. His legs trembled with his own weight and he started to lift his head, to take a look with those dark brown eyes, he saw in front of him something large, made of steel. Many men. Bound or not. The dark men he saw enter the silver machine, they seemed unafraid. As if they had done this many times before, there were wooden parts to the machine. One that served as a door. It made him afraid, angry.

 

Angry at the way human beings were being treated, he was afraid of the machine that suddenly blew steam out and blew a long whistle, shaking him to the core. This was his first time... ever seeing a train, he knew what they were. But he never expected them to be... this big.

The white robed Assassin balked, planting his feat weakly as they started to drag him forward to the train, into one of the places where other men were being put, "No..." He protest in his weak, yet still deep voice.  
He heard the muskets being raised, cocked, but still he refused, fear and stubbornness refusing to let him continue on.

 

Without a light  
I fear that I will stumble in the dark  
Lay right down  
decide not to go on

 

The leader moved back the others and took the rope, "Easy now, it ain't gonna hurt ya." He said, giving a light tug, but he wasn't pulling the Indian forward.  
The boy knew he couldn't hold out long; he couldn't run. The only thing was to step forward. He reluctantly allowed himself to be treated like an animal further, taking tentative steps forward, more shuffling along than anything. Once he reached the ramp; he hesitantly touched it with his foot, but slowly continued up, tapping his foot down twice before he actually took a real step.  
His eyes were down cast, but raised the moment the long rope was untied.

 

The white robed Assassin flinched as a hand patted his shoulders, "It'll be alright." As if by instinct, the man took slow steps into the cargo train, it was dark, there was a very could draft through the boards and it reeked.

The boy turned his head to the left and saw several other men, dark skinned and Indian alike. He recognized some of them, neighboring tribes. They recognized him too, the Assassin who was fighting for their freedom. They urged him over to them, but once more, his eyes turned down cast... and he turned his body away from them.

~~~

They died down as he went to the corner, glancing out of the parting in the wood, the cold wind brushed through his hair, only after he had removed his hood, he could feel the train lurch forward, making his stomach drop in fear, his brown eyes closing.  
The wind was blowing faster now and he shivered, pulling his legs up to his chest, he closed his eyes and held onto the fear, the sadness and the utter hopelessness he felt. There was nothing more, no fight left, he was bound. Doomed for slavery, a life of pain and misery.

 

Then from on high  
somewhere in the distance  
There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are"  
If you lose yourself  
your courage soon will follow

 

"Ratonhnhaké:ton..."  
"Connor..."  
"My son."  
"Our son."

The boy's eyes opened slowly, his breath catching in his throat as he dared to believe it was his mother calling for him, his father.  
Connor's dark eyes turned to the space in between the boards and he could see a faint outline of his mother, in the clothes she wore before she died, he saw his father, in the clothes he wore before he died.

"Mother? Father?" Ratonhnhaké:ton breathed as he stared at them, their faces becoming clearer. He could see them, his family together, he felt... peace. Sorrow.  
"Do not give up... you are my strength and I find pride in seeing what you do. But never give up, Ratonhnhaké:ton."  
Connor felt himself at a loss for words as he stared at his mother's soft face, here she was... with him, "Mother... I miss you." He told her honestly missing the way she would tell him stories before bed, braid his hair and take him on walks. All she did was smile, making his lips curve up into a small smile, he was feeling very happy, but saddened at the same time.

 

He knew he had some serious explaining to give to his father, Connor had read his journal, he had taken it back to his room and he had stayed up all night, reading through it, knowing his father's story.  
He was the one who cut Connor free from being hanged, he threw his knife and in the midst of everyone panicking, he fled. He only used sarcasm and anger to disguise his true love of his son.  
And he had cried, Connor had cried. For the first time since the night his mother had died, sobs had wracked his body and tears stained the paper as he couldn't control himself. He had to whisper, over and over again; "This is not my father, this is not his journal." But Connor could never actually deny.

 

So be strong tonight  
remember who you are  
Yeah you're a soldier now  
fighting in a battle

 

"I'm sorry father. I misjudged, forgive me." Ratonhnhaké:ton pleaded softly, his heart filled with fear at his father rejecting him.  
A soft smile came to Haytham's face as he reached up and took his hat off of his head, passing in through the boards and resting it on his son's head.

"I understand, but know this; whatever you do, is who you are. Never change it, for I am proud of who you have become. Never change, Ratonhnhaké:ton." Then, the weight of the hat on Connor's head gradually disappeared, so did the faces of his mother and father.

 

Connor cried out for them softly, stretching his hands out through the gaps, "Ista! Raké:ni!"  
"Konor: onhkwá..." He breathed at last as he watched his mother and father disappear from sight. Then he was left in the dark corner, left to decide what to do.

 

Connor's hands clenched into fists as he slowly rose to his feet, he was going to fight.

 

To be free once more   
yeah, that's worth fighting for

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the movie Spirit : Stallion of the Cimarron and the song on it, tell me what you think and check out the other ones if you please.
> 
>  
> 
> Song the Bugle © Bryan Adams  
> Spirit : Stallion of the Cimarron © DreamWorks  
> Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft


End file.
